The Approaching Flames
by ypput
Summary: Set between S2 & S3. When Arthur is kidnapped, Merlin is forced to go to Cenred's castle to try and free him. But with Uther's army gathering around the walls and Morgause prowling around the keep, will Merlin be able to reach and rescue the Prince?
1. Chapter 1  Uneasy

**"The Approaching Flames"**

_Set between S2 & S3. When Arthur is kidnapped Merlin is forced to go to Cenred's castle to try and free him, but with Uther's army gathering around the walls and Morgause prowling around the keep, will Merlin be able to reach and rescue the Prince? Or will their united enemies prove too powerful? _

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><p><strong>"<em>Chapter 1 – Uneasy"<em>**

"Dawn."

"Huh?" Merlin asked, pausing as he circled the room, picking up various items of muddied clothing that had been haphazardly strewn across the floor by Arthur.

"We're leaving at dawn tomorrow." Arthur clarified, letting the map he had been poring over scuttle back into a roll with a loud snap.

"Great. We're going crashing around in the woods looking for things to kill. Again." Merlin groaned, visibly sagging, "You never even catch anything good."

"It's called hunting, Merlin – Not that you'd know," Arthur replied bluntly. "Not this time," he continued in a more even tone, unbuckling his belt and dumping it on the table with a loud clatter. Turning his back on Merlin, he pulled his shirt over his head, "Another rumour…" He shrugged, throwing the grey shirt at Merlin, who deftly caught it with one hand and scrunched it into his pile. " …Morgana."

Morgana. The one name Merlin dreaded hearing above all others. Merlin swallowed and nodded, quickly going back about his work, shoveling a few dirty plates from the table onto the top of his already precarious pile of items.

The effect Morgana's name had on Merlin was not completely lost on Arthur, every time it was mentioned his servant would go unusually quite and pale. The reason for this he couldn't quite fathom, but he presumed, like himself, Merlin must feel a measure of guilt for failing to protect her from Morgause.

"It's probably nothing," Arthur continued, "Just like all the others…" Merlin didn't look round as Arthur spoke, instead he busily set about folding and unfolding a cape that he was going to wash anyway, mostly he just needed something to do with his hands so Arthur wouldn't notice them twitching. Morgana was dead. Poisoned. Merlin would know; he was the one who had done it. Arthur had no idea.

"But we can't ignore it… Father won't ignore it," Arthur added somberly as he pulled on another blue shirt. For the last six months he and his Knights had been racing from one end of the Kingdom to the other, and back again, to investigate supposed sighting of the King's Ward made by any old woman or goat herd hoping to make a few coins. For himself Arthur had begun to despair of ever finding her. The further they searched the more they clashed with the surrounding Kingdoms, each day the death toll rose a little higher. Even for Morgana, Arthur was starting to question if one life really could out weigh hundreds of others. His Father clearly thought so.

"This time it's North, the border with Mercia," Arthur said as he crawled into his bed, roughly tugging the neatly tucked sheets loose and squashing the pillows down with his fist - Merlin frowned at that, why he had to make it every morning when as soon as Arthur got in it he was going to do that...

"Who knows…" Arthur mused, lost in his own thoughts as he blew out the candle, "Maybe this time…"

Merlin wordlessly padded around the room, dousing the other flames then slipped over to the door, letting himself quietly out into the cool dark corridor. The sound of the lock clicking back into place was oddly loud in the stillness. He stood there for a moment, hand still on the cold metal handle, forehead against the rough wood of the door.

"You won't find her," he breathed, so quietly he hardly made any sound at all. "I had no choice," he reminded himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "I had no choice". Still the words sounded hollow.

Pushing away from the door he quickly cuffed his eyes and cleared his throat; crying in the corridors was bound to attract attention, and ridicule for that matter should Arthur ever learn of it. Emotionless mask back in place, he strode off down the corridor, tightly clutching his bundle.

The castle was quite, most in this quarter were already asleep, their servants dismissed and candles extinguished – He passed no one. Merlin walked softly, mindful of the sound of his boots in the silence and of those trying to sleep. He turned down another corridor into a wide hall way with a black and white checkered floor – Still he passed no one.

After a few minutes of this Merlin began to get uneasy, even in the middle of the night there was usually somebody about, a servant, the guards… Where was the patrol? The effect of the silence became more and more eerie, surely he should have seen some one else by now… Panic started to well up in his chest, the eerie silence and emptiness reminded him strongly of when the castle had been enchanted into an unnatural sleep by Morgana and Morgause, only this time he could feel no magic singing through the air to account for it.

Rounding a corner a flash of movement startled him, causing him to duck and give a little cry of alarm – He quickly recovered his composure however, and inwardly berated himself. The terrifying monster at the far end of the corridor was a curtain, just a curtain, swaying in the breeze of an open window. Very brave Merlin, well done.

Dumping his bundle on the floor he went to the window; it was cool, clear night, with a light breeze. The town looked peaceful, nestled quietly in the shadow of the castle. Most of the houses' windows were shuttered and dark, though here and there the light of a candle shone through the cracks - It looked just like the first time he'd seen it, leaning out of his window the first night after he had come to Camelot, and that reassured him. It was just his imagination making him paranoid; the watch was running late, the servants were all asleep; nothing strange was going on.

A slight scuffing noise made him lean back and survey the corridor; he wasn't surprised to find it empty. Shaking his head slightly at his own skittishness he closed the window, quietly clicking the catch back into place and retrieved his pile. Arthur talking about Morgana had made him nervous, when he got back to Gaius's chambers, got into his own bed and closed his eyes, everything would be alright; he was just tired.

Setting off again he encountered a new problem. The bundle in his arms kept slithering down until some article of clothing ended up trailing across the floor, tangling round his ankles and forcing him hitch the pile up to get a better hold, while simultaneously folding the offending item back in. Eventually the inevitable happened, one of the plates escaped, hitting the ground with a painfully loud metallic clang, that made Merlin wince, and grit his teeth, half expecting some noble to appear and yell at him, as the dish rolled away into an alcove.

Merlin sighed, dumped the rest of his pile in the middle of the corridor, fed up, and reluctantly followed the plate. Crouching down, he groped after it in the darkness, feeling his way over the cold marble tiles, until his fingers encountered something wet, slight warm, and a little bit sticky. Perplexed, he pulled his hand back into the light and stared at his fingers, rubbing them together, feeling the slightly tacky resistance as he pulled them apart. Then he realised. It was blood.

Merlin jumped back, staring wildly around, one hand raised ready to defend himself with a spell, while he grabbed the nearest torch with the other and jabbed it into the alcove, illuminating the grizzly scene. Lying there, crumpled against the wall, were two bodies; both men, both guards, both clearly dead by the amount of blood puddled around them and the bloody tears in their throats.

A hand over his mouth to fight the urge to wretch, Merlin backed away, his heart pounding. Now he knew why it was so quiet, his instincts had been right after all. This was no accident; there was a killer in the castle. They could be anywhere. Merlin glanced round again, backing up against the far wall, feeling the security of having something solid at his back. His mind raced, trying to grasp the implications of his gruesome discovery; Camelot had been, _was being_, attacked. The only coherent thought that formed was one of conviction, he knew who they were after - There were only two people in Camelot worth killing - The King and the Prince.

"Arthur," Merlin said out loud, feeling ice seize his veins. Merlin turned and ran, sprinting down the corridor as fast as his legs would carry him, no longer caring how much noise he made. If he woke up the entire castle then it was all the better, but there was no time to stop and get help, whoever had taken out the guards had clearly come and gone. They were moving swiftly through the castle, eliminating anyone they encountered, that was why it was so quiet. Merlin was sure the two guards would not be the only victims. Whoever this was they were merciless.

Merlin had to get to Arthur before they did.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be up soon - Mostly becasue it's already written! Huzzarh! Please do leave a review, so I can adore you! =3<strong>


	2. Chapter 2 Blur

**_"Chapter 2 -Blur"_**

The sound of the door banging roused Arthur, not quite asleep yet he had been drifting; half dreaming, half thinking. Arthur cracked open an eye, in the blackness he could just make out a shape near the door – Merlin. Probably forgotten something - Arthur concluded sleepily and closed his eyes again, pulling the covers closer round him.

There was the sound of feet hurrying across the floor, then a bang, a hiss and a clatter over by the table. Despite feeling a spark of annoyance, Arthur couldn't help snorting a slight laugh.

"Graceful as ever Merlin," Arthur muttered, but got no reply other than a sharp in take of breath. "A herd of cattle would be quieter than you," Arthur grumbled, his annoyance surfacing. He had expected a surly retort, or muttered complaints, instead he got stony silence. There was the sound of feet again, then another bang and scrape against the chair.

"Merlin what the hell are you doing?" Arthur demanded, loosing his patience, rolling over and sitting up now. "Are you trying to wake the whole damn castle?" No reply. "Merlin!" Arthur aimed a cushion towards the noise and was rewarded by the thump of it hitting something. The shadowed figure turned, striding towards him.

Arthur sensed, rather than saw, the blade that sliced out of the darkness towards him. Throwing himself sideways, he rolled over the far edge of his bed, landing heavily, tangled in his quilt. Moving swiftly he struggled free of the heavy fabric and quickly pushed himself into a crouch, backing away, eyes wide trying to let what little light there was in the pitch darkness. At least he had established why Merlin hadn't replied to him - It wasn't Merlin.

His sword was on the far side of the room, on the table, his attacker between him and it – A fact they were probably aware of. Being unarmed was a strange feeling for Arthur, he felt vulnerable, almost naked, without a blade in his hand; a sword or a knife, heck at this point even a letter opener would do - But nothing was within reach. The desk in the window opening behind him was covered with parchment and quills, he backed towards it and ran his hands over it frantically, feeling for anything beneath the papers, but there was nothing of use – The notion that the pen was mightier than the sword was not one he was about to test, besides what was he going to do? Write his attacker a strongly worded letter?

The attacker advanced, stepping warily towards him, visible only as a darker shadow in the shadows. It occurred to Arthur that the darkness also worked in his favor, unless this man had the night vision of a cat, then he would be able to see no more of the room than Arthur; in fact, as the incidents where his assailant had collided with the table and chair had proven, it gave him the advantage, he knew this room.

Arthur edged sideways, inch by inch, barely breathing as his bare feet touched the cold floor. Even the slightest sound would be enough to tip off his stalker as to which direction he had taken. His current route was a circuitous lap of the entire chamber, step by painfully small step, aiming to reach the table, his sword and the hope of turning this ambush into an offensive.

"Come out, come out where ever you are…" The man's voice whispered, making Arthur's skin crawl and shaking him enough to make him take one false step. The sound of his foot slapping against the tiles was enough. The man whipped about, his boots scraping on the floor as he deftly leapt in Arthur's direction, the gleaming blade held before him. Throwing stealth and caution to the winds, Arthur ran.

The distance to the table was slightly less than Arthur judge and he smacked into it with a loud bang that sent his sword clattering to the ground, he dived after it, fishing futilely for it in the darkness. By sheer luck his fingers curled around the smooth leather bindings on the hilt. Finally, he could fight back. Ripping the sword free of the scabbard Arthur whirled round, brandishing his weapon with a guttural snarl. The attacker met the blade with own, blocking the strike so the metal screamed and sparked.

Jumping backward Arthur retreated until he could reach the nearest window bay. Grabbing blindly in the blackness, he took a fistful of the curtains and tore them aside, effectively ripping them from the poles, letting the moonlight fill the room.

For the first time he could see his would be assassin. There was nothing particularly impressive about him. He was of average build, of average height, not particularly handsome, nor particularly ugly. If Arthur had passed him in the street he wouldn't have spared him a second glance. The only features that marked him was the long, straggly grey hair and the set grimace of determination that bared several teeth, all sharply pointed as if they had been filed.

Feinting left Arthur, pulled his sword up, too quick for his attacker, who blocked the blow but only just. The point of Arthur's sword neatly nicked his neck just below the jaw, it was enough to make the attacker pause, but only slowed him for a second before he turned the parry into and counter attack; sweeping his blade round in an arc aimed at the Prince's thigh. Arthur neatly ducked the strike; it was a cheap shot, designed to cripple an opponent and let you finish them off at your leisure, and it was one he had seen many times before.

Arthur stuck back, clashing his sword purposely against his attackers, sliding it down to the hilt, then whipping his own sword over, forcing the man to either loosen his grip on the weapon or break his wrist. He chose the first option. The sword clanged to the floor, skidding away under the bed. The man stared after it for a second, nostrils flared until Arthur stepped forward again, pressing the point of his sword to the man's throat.

"Yield," Arthur demanded, unable to strike down a defenseless man, even if minutes ago that man had been happy to slit his throat in the dark.

"Alright…" The man said and began to slowly raise his hands, his face a picture of meek compliance. It lasted only a second; with out warning he lashed out, kicking a boot into Arthur's stomach that made the Prince double over with pain, and forced him to use his sword as support so he didn't fall to his knees. Having made his opportunity, the attacker stepped forwards, slamming his foot against Arthur's sword, knocking it flat to the floor and out of Arthur's grip. With out the sword to lean on Arthur buckled to the floor, winded and gasping.

Another quick kick sent the sword scraping across the tiles, until it fetched up against the fire place. It was Arthur's turn to stare after his weapon in dismay. Once again he was defenseless, at this man's mercy, and looking up into those cold grey eyes, he felt certain that mercy wasn't a notion this man was likely to embrace.

Surrender wasn't an option. There was no way out. He wanted to close his eyes, as if that would ward off the enviable; a whimper at the back of his mind even suggested he begged, but he remained rigid, eyes open, staring the man in the eyes, every inch of him defiant.

"Arthur!"

A familiar voice. Arthur snapped his head up, feeling a surge of hope – Then dread – Merlin was no match for this man.

The assassin turned at the sound, whipping a hidden blade from the top of his boot in one fluid movement as he did so. The curve of naked steel gleamed iridescent purple in the moonlight as he faced the figure silhouetted in the open door.

"Merlin, don't! He's-" Arthur started a warning, but was quickly silenced to a gasping wheeze by another well placed kick to the abdomen that made him want to wretch.

Merlin didn't need warning, he could clearly see the blade, and he had already seen this man's handy work – The two butchered guards - Merlin unconsciously rubbed his hand down the side of his jacket, remembering the feeling of the blood; warm and sticky, like a thin treacle.

Merlin took a step forward, a step that was matched by the man; they regarded each other mutely, staring each other down, almost daring each other to make the first move.

The assassins face broke into a crooked smile, showing his pointed teeth – At first he had been worried by the sudden turn in events - This boy however didn't present much of an obstacle. A servant; that was all he was, nothing special. So far things hadn't gone exactly to plan - He hadn't bargained on Arthur putting up a struggle in the first place nor had he expected to be interrupted – At least this interruption would be easy to deal with. He could erase this nuisance of a serving boy and then deal with the Prince. The plan wasn't ruined yet. He would make the first move.

The next moment was a flash of movement, a blur of shapes and muted colours, that were impossible to distinguish, mixed with the sound of a running feet and a snarl of anger.

Arthur struggled to his feet, still gasping for breath and fighting the urge to wretch, his eyes too were watering, making it difficult to see or make sense of the fight taking place in front of him, but one thing was clear. Merlin wasn't winning.

The fight was completely one sided - The man kept lunging, sweeping his dagger left and right or else flicking it up in small jerky movements, hoping to catch Merlin with an unexpected jab; but Merlin was unusually quick and agile, ducking, dodging and predicting each strike and feint. Years of avoiding flying objects directed at him by Arthur were finally paying off. Though Merlin could not hope to fight back, the man was too quick; it was all he could do to stay out the way of the knife, besides he was unarmed.

"Arthur! Run!" Merlin yelled, dodging round the chair and ducking another stab directed at his heart that was quickly followed up by another lunge.

Merlin sprang backward, colliding with the table so he fell back against it, but not as far as he had expected, and he knew instantly he had made a huge mistake.

Arthur saw image in a freeze frame. The assassin. The falling dagger. Merlin.

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><p><strong>Dun dun dun! I do love reviews -hint hint- Next chapter soon ;3<strong>


	3. Chapter 3 The Falling Dagger

_**"Chapter 3 – The Falling Dagger"**_

"Look out!" Arthur yelled, instinctively throwing himself forwards between Merlin and the cold gleam of steel. The blade seemed to swerve at the last second, catching Arthur's arm, slicing cleanly through his thick blue linen shirt, carving into his flesh, making him hiss with pain.

The assassin jumped back with a snarl. This was unexpected; this wasn't part of the plan. His intention had been to fell the servant first, removing an unnecessary distraction, which would leave him free to deal with the master. He had never expected the master to come to the defense of the servant; most nobles were only to keen to save their own skin, considering the likes of a serving boy to be an expendable possession. Now it seemed he had misjudged the boy's importance, perhaps he was someone after all if the Prince would go so far to protect him – The sudden twist in circumstances stumped him, he paused, dithering, unsure who or where to strike.

This split second of hesitation was all Arthur needed. His bunched fist struck the attacker squarely under the chin with a sharp crack. The man hissed out a breath between his pointed teeth as his thin lips curled back in a grimace of pain and shock. His dark grey eyes grew wide with surprise before going glassy and dull, sliding shut as he crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap, landing heavily, sprawled against the side of the table.

Arthur stepped back, eyes wide, breathing heavily; his right hand clutched the gash in his upper arm. Blood bloomed across the sleeve of his blue shirt, turning the fabric deep maroon; a warm trickle of blood ran between his fingers and splashed on to the floor with a dull plop that dragged him back to his senses.

"You alright?" He asked breathlessly, turning to Merlin who was standing silent and pale faced, frozen in position one hand raised, looking about as shocked as he felt. Merlin nodded mutely in response, and quickly lowered his hand, pulling it behind his back as if to hide it, then suddenly thinking better of it, started flexing it convulsively as if to make out he had some sort of spasm in it.

"Thank you," Merlin said shakily, staring down at his hand.

"Just think of the mess," Arthur joked waving his thanks away as he leaned back against the bed post to steady himself. "And with you dead who'd tidy it up?" He added with a snort of laugher, winning him a shaky smile from Merlin. It quickly vanished, turning into a frown of concern, when Merlin's eyes locked onto the gradually spreading stain working its way across Arthur's sleeve.

"It's nothing," Arthur assured him, following his gaze, "Just a scratch."

"I'll get you some bandages," Merlin said hurriedly backing away, dashing across the room to dive into one of the cupboards.

"Merlin… Merlin it's fine," Arthur insisted, despite the sudden faint feeling that was spreading over him, making his knees feel weak. Merlin was still clattering around on the other side of the room, digging frenziedly through one of the drawers. "Don't worry about it now, go and get the guards before this guy wakes up," Arthur instructed, prodding the prone form with his toe as he sank down onto the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand across his suddenly burning brow.

"But-"

"Go!"

Merlin nodded, acquiescing to the command, despite his misgivings and the fact he knew the exact whereabouts of two of the guards – They certainly would not be of much help to them now.

"Here," Merlin said, snatching Arthur's sword off the floor and darted back to jam the hilt of the blade into Arthur's hand. Arthur didn't say anything, but nodded, his jaw set.

Merlin threw him one last, worried, backwards glance before disappearing out into dark the corridor.

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Merlin sprinted down the corridors, weaving left and right; his heart hammered in his throat as he turned corner after corner with out seeing anyone. There were always guards on patrol around the castle at night, the echoing sound of his running foot steps should be commotion aplenty to attract them, but there were none to be found – Surely the assassin could not be so efficent as to have dispatched the entire watch?

Several times he though he saw the shadow of some one just around the next corner, he called after them and ran to catch up, but every time he reached them they were gone, vanished into thin air. Many of the torches were guttering, barely burning, leaving the labyrinth of twisting passage ways dim and gloomy.

"Hello!" Merlin called in desperation, skidding to a stop at the end of one passage way, his boots squeaking on the polished black and white marble floor "HELLO!"

"Who goes there?" Finally a response! Two guards came clattering into sight, pikes lowered warily.

"It's Merlin - Prince Arthur's man servant," Merlin spluttered, waving his arms and pointing back down the passage. "The Prince has been attacked in his chambers," he explained hurriedly, eager to get back. Something was making him uneasy, the hair on the back of his neck prickled – He wasn't sure this was over yet. The sooner he was back with Arthur the better.

The two guards looked at each other, exchanging glances, whether of concern of disbelief it was hard to say as their faces were mostly covered by their helmets, all that was visible were the grim set of their mouths.

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"Arthur! I've got the guards!" Merlin announced, slamming back through the doors, his eye's darting around the room, alert for any danger.

"Good," Arthur said weakly from where he had slid down onto the floor, against the carved wooden foot board of his bed. His face was pale, beaded with sweat, his breathing was laboured, as it had been at the end of the fight, only it was growing steadily more ragged now instead of improving. Seeing him, Merlin sprinted to his side and dropped to his knees.

"The knife…" Arthur wheezed. One hand clutched his sword, the other still clamped over the wound; the blood had stopped trickling at least, now it was drying between his fingers, leaving crackled scarlet streaks across his fingers and wrist. "…Poisoned," He murmured between his quietly chattering teeth. There was fear in Arthur's blue eyes as he looked up at Merlin. Waves of shivers ran over him, making him shudder and hunch into a tighter ball, though he tried to keep them in check by clenching his jaw and hugging his arms closer in to his body.

"You'll be alright." Merlin squeezed his shoulder, trying to reassure him, "I'll get Gaius". At that moment the two guards caught up, banging through the double doors, and running into the room. They glanced round the room quickly, taking in the scene, stiffening when they saw crumpled body of the man. Arthur's servant sprang to his feet when he saw them, relief evident on his pale face. The guards exchanged another glance, one giving the other the shadow of a nod.

"He needs Gaius." Merlin explained, running past the guards, striding purposefully towards the open door and corridor beyond, "I'm g-"

"Merlin!"

Arthur's warning came too late, the butt of the pike struck Merlin squarely in the back of the head with a resounding crack. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

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><p><strong>Merlin! D= Thanks for all the reviews - Hope you are enjoying it so far! Next chapter is already written so shall be here soon ;3<strong>


	4. Chapter 4 Infiltrated

**_"Chapter 4 - Infiltrated"_**

"Is he dead?" The 'guard' asked, prodding the dark haired boy's body where it lay sprawled on the far side of the table, a trickle of blood slowly forming a pool around his head in a gruesome mockery of a halo.

"Does it matter?"

"S'pose not – He's only a servant. What about Egan?" He pointed to the unconscious attacker from earlier.

"No, he's breathing."

"See if you can bring him round – So much for his claim that this job would be no problem, now he's made a right mess of it. I'll watch the door."

Arthur watched the exchange in silent horror, shock freezing him to the spot, unable to do anything but shiver. His mind was clouded by a haze, darkness had begun to engulf his vision, creeping in from the corners of his eyes. A blur of thoughts swirled round his head, each one screaming at him, vying to get his full attention. Merlin was down. These guards were imposters. Camelot had been infiltrated.

The dull thud of his pounding heart reverberated around his chest, pumping a new wave of adrenaline into his blood stream, steadying his shaking limbs. Sweat made his sword hand slippery, instinctively he clutched the hilt tighter, digging his nails into the leather binding as he gritted his teeth against the pain shooting down his arm. He tried to stand, pushing himself up against the foot board while pulling himself up the thick silk curtains and bed post, his sword jammed between the floor tiles to steady himself. He got half way up, managed an unsteady step towards the guards, intent on a fight and revenge, but his legs turned to jelly beneath him and he pitched forwards, his knees striking painfully against the cold stone floor. His sword shot out of his hand, skittering across the floor with a sharp metallic ting, ending with a dull thud as it buried itself under the wardrobe.

"Won't get far," one of the guards, who was attending their first fallen attacker, muttered to Arthur, not bothering to look up, "Cut you with his knife eh? It's a paralytic – Won't kill you though," he added with a slight sneer, as though he found that fact just a little disappointing.

"What do you want?" Arthur demanded with as much dignity as he could muster. Unable to stand he pushed himself up onto hands and knees, dragging himself forwards, towards Merlin, over the tiles. What was left of Arthur's colour drained when he saw Merlin, the boy's face was deathly white, highlighted further by the splashes of scarlet on his cheek and temple. Please be breathing. Please don't be dead. Please.

"I don't know what Cenred has in mind for you. Not my problem. We're just the delivery boys. Ain't that right?" The guard near the door laughed, turning away from the door to answered Arthur's question.

"Right," the other guard agreed succinctly, harshly slapping the cheek of their unconscious accomplice.

Cenred. Arthur's heart squeezed in his chest; they shared miles of their eastern border with Cenred's Kingdom and the relationship between them could be described as anything but amicable. Not a week went by with out some form of border scuffle or night raid that would leave a handful of men dead on both sides and more often than not some unfortunate village or small holding in flames. What appeared at first to be a random attack; there were any number of likely candidates who held a grudge against Uther, and by extension his son, had turned into something far more sinister.

For a moment Arthur felt like retorting that they would never get away with this, but, judging by the current situation, they already had. There was no use in crying for help, it was unlikely there was anyone to hear; besides they could quickly silence him with a gag or swift blow to the head, like they had done Merlin.

Arthur's progress was infuriatingly slow, his limbs refused to cooperate, several times they gave out all together, letting him crash to the floor, his chin scrapping on the gritty stone. The guards were content to let him struggle, they knew he wasn't going to get as far as the door before the paralytic took full effect; even if he did he was as weak as a kitten now, they would have no trouble restraining him.

Sheer force of will finally allowed him to reach Merlin's side. "Merlin," he hissed, roughly shaking his friend's shoulders. Nothing. "Merlin!" he hissed again, pushing back Merlin's blood stained scarf to place two fingers against his throat, feeling for a pulse. Arthur held his breath for a moment, then growled with annoyance when he was unable to tell whether it was his own pulse he was feeling or Merlin's.

"Come on Merlin," he begged, slapping a hand hard against Merlin's face. Suddenly Merlin stirred, only slightly, his fingers twitched, then lay still again; his chest gently rising and falling. "You idiot," Arthur breathed and fell back, relief gushed through him. Merlin was alive.

A groan, some cursing, and the sound of scuffling feet told Arthur that their previous attack was awake again. Arthur turned towards the noise, alarmed to find how much his eye sight had dimmed, he could only just make out the shape of the man, getting unsteadily to his feet, as a shifting grey pink blur.

"Better go," the guard who had been watching the door said, striding across the room, roughly dragging his unsteady accomplice's arm around his shoulders. "You, get the Prince."

Hearing himself mentioned, Arthur backed away instinctively, fumbling backwards until he reversed into Merlin's prone form. He glanced urgently over his shoulder, trying to locate his sword, a knife, the fire irons, anything he could use to fend them off.

"I'm going to kill that brat for interfering! I'll solve him!" The earlier attacker, Egan, seemed to have come fully to his senses now and was roughly pushing away the guard who was trying to help him. "Loyal little whelp! I'm going to kill him!" He snarled, storming towards Merlin, feeling in his boot for his knife, cursing savagely when he found it missing.

"There isn't time, Egan," one of the guards said with exasperation, "You said we needed to grab the Prince and go – Remember?"

"If that boy hadn't gotten in the way-"

"We don't have time."

"I'm in charge here! – Remember?" Egan snarled rounding on the other man.

"We need to disappear - All hell's going to break loose round here soon." The guard snapped back, barely keeping his voice under control; he was well aware how bleak their prospects would be if they were caught. If Uther didn't have them killed on the spot then all they could hope for would be a swift execution.

The exchange gave Arthur a few seconds to think, what could he do? He had no weapon, escaping or fighting them off were no longer option. Thinking fast Arthur dipped his finger into the pool of Merlin's blood and started scrawling something across the floor. There were foot steps behind him. There was only time to finish one word before rough hands grabbed him.

One word. Cenred.

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><p><strong>Arthur! D= Thanks for reading - Please review ;3<strong>


	5. Chapter 5 One Word

**_"Chapter 5 – One Word"_**

It was cold and dark, everything so far away, as if he were laying fathoms under water. There was a dull echoing around him, mumbled words being spoken, louder still a growling anger, shouting, panic, though he couldn't understand anything being said; it was all just noise, none of his concern. Something was shaking him, he was dully aware of hands on his shoulders, his eyes flickered open then closed again. The light was too bright and painful. He curled inwards, reaching back towards blackness, away from the pain that was blossoming throughout his body.

Some one was calling his name, he could just distinguish it through the clamour, through he didn't recognised the voice, groaning he forced his eye's open, blinking fiercely against the blinding rays. Pain swamped over him like a flood, making him hiss with pain and his eye's brim with tears and he curled into a ball, hugging his throbbing head in his hands.

"Merlin!" The voice repeated sternly, as the hands continued to shake him.

"Uther please," Gaius voice cracked in, as he tried prise the King's hands from his wards shoulders.

"Merlin! What happened?" Uther demanded, shaking off Gaius as he roughly dragged Merlin up into a sitting position.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked feebly, blinking at the blue grey eyes that swam in and out of focus in front of him.

"Merlin, where's Arthur?" Uther insisted, giving Merlin a bracing shake that made his head loll back and forth.

"Arthur's… Not here?" Merlin asked, his mind muddled and confused, trying desperately to grasp the words that were being thrown at him. Everyone was so loud, so rough with him. He just wanted to sleep. Merlin half heartedly swatted at the hands holding him.

"NO! Where is he?" Uther exploded in anger, shaking Merlin violently now, as if he could rattle the answer out of him.

"Uther! The boy's hurt!" Gaius reproached the King, jamming an arm between him and Merlin. "He can't tell you anything until I've seen to his wound; he's taken quite a blow to the head."

"DO YOU THINK I CARE? Half a dozen guards have been found with their throats slit and my son is MISSING!" Uther shouted at Gaius, as the old man were senile. "I want to know where my son is!"

"You won't learn anything by interrogating the boy!" Gaius snapped back, only just managing to keep his own anger in check.

"Fine!" Uther growled, unceremoniously releasing his grip on Merlin's jacket, letting him slump back to the floor. He was at least considerate enough to move aside and let Gaius take his place at Merlin's side, though he didn't go far; he took to pacing up and down the beside them, showing his impatience by the way he squeezed his fists behind his back.

"Arthur's… Gone?" Merlin grasped the situation through the befuddling pounding in his head.

"Yes," Gauis said simply, tight lipped. "Gently now," he admonished, pushing Merlin back down as he struggled to get up. "It's not as bad as it could have been," he breathed with obvious relief, as he gingerly pressed his finger around the cut, "Nothing broken. Head wounds bleed a lot."

"We… We need to find him," Merlin stammered, stating the obvious, which earned him a withering scowl from Uther. Merlin gingerly pushed himself up, then whimpered and clutched his head as it exploded in agony that made tears well from his eyes. Oh God, it hurt, it was like some one had stabbed a knife into the back of his skull. Tears splashed down the front of his shirt, and onto the floor leaving dark splats of moisture among the smeared red stains and scratches. Swallowing stiffly and gritting his teeth to stifle another whimper he pushed on, managing to roll onto all fours and stay there, swaying slightly. Gaius hovering over him as he did so, frowning his disapproval, but he knew better than to ask the boy to lay still.

"Well?" Uther demanded of Gaius, prowling in closer as soon as he saw Merlin wobble to his hands and knees. "Ask him!" Uther hissed, gesticulating wildly. Gaius nodded; Uther was not a patient man. By intervening in the King's integration of the boy he was already severely pushing his luck, he couldn't stall any longer.

"Merlin," Gaius began gently, glancing to Uther, who nodded vigorously as if to say 'get on with it', "Do you remember anything?"

"Remember…" Merlin repeated slowly, blinking rapidly, cuffing his wet eyes, trying to clear the white spots from his vision and adjust his focus to the red stained flag stones between his hands. It took him a moment to realise the red stain was blood, his blood… There was something strange about the way it trailed off to the right in a series of curves and loops, it almost looked like a word…

"He was hurt..." Merlin mumbled, struggling to recall the events, it was only a couple of hours ago, but it felt like years. "The blade… Something about… Poison?" Merlin continued, the intonation of his voice making it sound like a question rather than an answer.

"What!" Uther was back, nostrils flaring, bearing down on Merlin again.

Merlin's fingers traced over the sweep of red swirls on the floor as he tried to think, the squiggle curved over to the right, looped back then along up and round... It looked just like the letters 'c' and 'e'…

"N?" Merlin said out loud, his brows knitting together and he screwed his eyes up, looking hard at the next smear… Was that a 'd'? It was a word! "CENRED!" He said suddenly sitting bolt upright, causing the King to sidle backwards in alarm.

"Cenred!" He repeated with conviction, spinning round to face the King, "Cenred has Arthur!"

It was a message. One word. Cenred.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading, hope you are enjoying it! As always reviews are much loved and a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed - Love to read what you have to say! So excited for Season 4 to start again tonight! ;3<strong>


	6. Chapter 6 Eat Your Soup

_**"Chapter 6 – Eat your soup"**_

"Cenred," Gaius sighed, shaking his head as he placed a bowl of some interestingly lumpy soup in front of Merlin. "I would have thought him wiser than to rile Uther thus. It's going to be a war." He ended sadly, as he took his seat opposite Merlin on the trestle table. Uther was incandescent with rage – Screaming that he was going to wipe Cenred from the face of the earth, grind each and every one of his knights into dust and raze his castle to the ground.

Gaius had spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon in the council chambers with the other advisors, desperately trying to prevent their King doing anything rash. They didn't know what Cenred wanted yet; they didn't even know in all certainty that it even was Cenred behind the Prince's abduction. All they had to go was a hastily scribbled word that could have been written by anyone – Both kingdoms had mutual enemies, those who it would benefit to set the Kingdoms at each other's throats. Not that Uther would listen – All they effectively managed to do was stall him. By the morning Camelot would be at war.

"I've not seen Uther like this since the Purge," Gaius murmured fearfully, eyeing Merlin across the table. "His first reaction was to decree that sorcery was at play – It took all I had to convince him not to start building bonfires in the square," Gaius sighed, rubbing a hand across his tired grey eyes.

Merlin said nothing in response to Gaius, instead just grunted and half heartedly pushed the mush around his bowl, discovering a treasure trove of unidentifiable vegetables and something that looked worryingly like a tentacle.

"Merlin, this isn't your fault," Gaius said quietly, guessing at the reasons behind Merlin's silence.

"Then who's fault is it?" Merlin demanded, tearing his gaze away from the soup, to meet his mentors grey eyes. "I was there, I could have done something. I shoul-"

"You were nearly killed! Merlin no one's blaming you. There's no reason why you should blame yourself," Gaius insisted, consolingly, taking in the boys dishevelled appearance. Merlin's skin was still pale, the shadow of a bruise grazed his cheek around a small scratch, while dark, puffy, circles rimmed both of his blood shot eyes. He looked awful.

"Arthur got hurt protecting me, because I was too scared to use my magic in front of him," Merlin said in a dull monotone, raising his striking blue eye's to meet his mentors. "For all my magic I'm still useless."

"Don't ever think that," Gaius said, threatening him across the table with his spoon to emphasize the point. "If anyone found out you-"

"I know. I know!" Merlin sighed rubbing a hand through his untidy black hair, he'd heard this speech a thousand time. "My magic is a secret to be guarded with my life. I know."

"Precisely! How can you protect the Prince if you're dead?" Gaius demanded, seeing an opportunity to reaffirm his point.

"You think Arthur would have me executed?" Merlin said, his eyes back on his soup now.

"Ye- I - That's irrelevant. What matters is stopping Uther pitching us all into a war."

Merlin nodded, making no comment on Gaius's evasive answer. "If Arthur was returned, then Uther would have no reason to start a war…" Merlin suggested, surreptitiously dunking the floating tentacle back under the surface of his soup.

"You cannot go after Arthur," Gaius said softly, lowering his head so forcing Merlin to meet his eyes. "You are powerful Merlin, but even you cannot take on an entire garrison." Gaius paused, before broaching his next point, "We don't even know the Prince is still alive."

"He's alive," Merlin assured him, but ventured no further information on the basis his conviction.

"It would be suicide," Gaius said gently.

"I know," Merlin replied quietly, running his fingers over the hard lump on the back of his head. "Don't worry Gaius, I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"Good," Gaius said with a sniff, pleased that he finally seemed to have gotten through. "Eat your soup."

_,_,_,_

Groggily Gaius rolled off his palette, pushing back the warm woollen blankets, shivering as the cold morning air curled around him. Huffing and rubbing his hands together he staggered to his feet, groaning as his old bones creaked. He dragged on his thick red robe, grateful for the warmth, though his cold fingers struggled with the toggle fastenings.

The fire had burned down to embers, he poked them back to life with a length of charred stick which he also tossed on the fire, followed by a couple of split logs. He tarried there a moment, warming his hands over the fresh flames that had stared licking up and blackening the pale pine wood.

Unable to leave his mind idle he began running over the days tasks; there was medicine to prepare, and deliver, he needed some new leeches… Wasn't it Thursday? That meant he and Merlin would be down in the lower town collecting pots this morning, same as every other Thursday. He smiled grimly, that would please the boy, well no not really, he complained about it every Thursday. At least the routine should stop him dwelling on what had happened yesterday and keep him out of mischief. Where was that boy? He'd miss a day if he wasn't careful.

"Merlin," Gaius called, trudging up the narrow stairway and pushing open the rough plank door. "Come on Merlin, time to ge- Oh not again," Gaius sighed, taking in the rumpled sheets and empty bed.

Merlin was gone.

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><p><strong>Poor Gaius - His advice is completely ignored, as always. <strong>Cheers for reading! Please leave a review ;3<strong>**


	7. Chapter 7 Bait

**_"Chapter 7 - Bait"_**

The world flicked in and out of focus, streaks of grey and black blurred across his vision, blooming with splashes of white light. His throat was dry, burning; he coughed weakly, spluttering out dry breaths, coughing even more when he sucked in gasps of stale air. He clutched his hand to his throat, feeling the relief of his cold fingers against his burning skin – He was so hot. Sweat beaded on his forehead, rolling down his nose in rivulets. He could taste it, hot and salty in his mouth as his teeth chattered together with mixture of fear and fever. Roughly he wiped his hand against the back of his mouth; his fingers felt cold and numb as they trembled over a puffed and bruised lip.

Slowly feeling in each of his extremities was returning; all of them ached. Pain blossomed from the slash to his shoulder in nauseating waves. Rolling onto his back, he gingerly felt up his arm; the torn edges of his shirt were stiff with dry blood. Feeling further, under the ripped fabric, his nails grated over the wounds raw edges; they were puckered and hot, crusted around the edges – He pressed his fingers against it, gently, testing; a gush hot liquid spilt from it, making him swallow stiffly against the pain and sudden urge to wretch. The knife had gone deep, but that was not the worst of it, either the poison on the blade, or some other stray dirt had entered the breach in his skin, making it angry, septic.

"Wakey, wakey, sunshine," Some one growled, slapping a cold hand against Arthur's face.

"Uuuuggggh," Arthur groaned, rolling over, feeling the damp straw and slimly tiles against his cheek.

"I said wake up!" The voice snarled.

"Oooopmh!" A boot connected with his groin making his wheeze and gasp in pain. He blinked up at his assailant through his gritty eyes, seeing them only as a dark shape looming over him in the gloom.

"That's better – Awake now are we?"

Arthur tried to wheeze a reply in response, something appropriately arrogant and defiant, but his throat was so dry and cracked all he managed was a feeble croak.

"That's the spirit," they laughed, nudging his head round with their boot so he could stare directly up at them and take in the long straggling hair, pointed teeth and dark grey eyes. Arthur's lip curled with hatred as he stared up at the man, vaguely remembering his name, Egan, the man who had abducted him, the motion reopening his torn lip.

"Breakfast, Sire," the Egan informed him with sardonic politeness, clattering a metal patter down by his feet, just out of comfortable reach, followed by the clang and slop of a pitcher of water. "Just like home eh?" he added with a nasty smile that crinkled his smooth face, turning up his narrow grey lips to show the pointed teeth beneath. "I wouldn't want Lord Cenred esteemed guest going hungry. After all he wants to see you later, probably wants to ask how you're liking your stay," he added, bowing mockingly and waving his other arm in deference, as he laughed at his own joke and backed from the cell.

The cell door clanged shut behind him, followed by a rattle of keys and the click of a lock sliding into its keep. Two pairs of feet could be heard scuffling about outside, slight shadows flicked under the door where their boots blocked the torch light that filtered around the thick oak door's edges.

"I want this one watched," the Egan murmured, his voice muffled by the wood. What must presumably be another guard grunted in response and shuffled his feet a bit more. "Doesn't mean you can't have bit of fun if he gives you any trouble though," he added, a dull smack and jingle of chain mail suggesting he had just slapped the other guard on the shoulder.

"What does Cenred want him for anyway?" The guard asked, rapping his knuckles against the cell door, as if there was any question to which prisoner they were referring to.

"Bait," Was the simple reply. "Uther comes to get his whelp and we spring the trap." Egan laughed loudly, the sound echoing round Arthur's cell.

"From what I hear you had a bit of trouble getting your hands on this 'whelp',"the guard said evenly. Egan's laughter immediately died in his throat.

"Who said that?" He demanded savagely, rounding on the guard.

"How I hear it told – Some trouble with a serving boy?" It was the guards turn to laugh. That laugh too was abruptly cut short by a thud that sounded like someone being forced up against the cell door. "I didn't mean anything by it - Just what I heard! That's all!" The guard voice was even more muffled now, tight and wheezing, with an edge of fear.

"It better be all," Came the dangerously low response, followed by another thud as the guard was released - The conversation ended with out further exchange. The sound of foot steps striding away down the corridor signaled Egan's departure, leaving the Prince in peace.

Arthur rolled over, feeling his way across the dark cell until his fingers brushed against the cold pitcher of water. The water was cool and refreshing, he dark thirstily, spilling it down his throat. The food was miserable stuff, a mouldering apple, a hunk of questionably green cheese and a lump of bread. Despite himself he smiled, this was actually quite a lot like home, it was like the sort of thing Merlin sometimes presented him with.

Gradually his smile faded as he looked round the dingy cell, it was about five paces wide and as many deep. There was only one door, solid oak, reinforced with iron rivets and hinges, nothing else save a small grill at the bottom of the back wall about a hand's width wide. No escape that way.

He cursed his own stupidity for leaving the message, he though he'd been so clever, leaving a trail of bread crumbs as it were; now he realised he'd played right into Cenred's hands. Cenred was hoping Uther would send a rescue party, an army even. Right now he would be preparing a welcome for them; ditches, siege works, and possibly something far worse, if Egan's words were true. Any rescue attempt would turn into a debacle.

He worried his fingers through his blond hair, spiking it on end; if only he could send them a message somehow, anything to tell his father not to come. Not that it would have any effect he reflected even as soon as he thought it; his Father was too stubborn. Blinded by rage he would rather dash his armies to pieces, sacrificing thousands of men, than let Cenred get away with this.

Uther was walking straight into a trap. Arthur was the bait.

* * *

><p><strong>Uh oh - This can't end well... Thanks for reading! - Please do leave a review =3 And thanks again to everyone who has reviewed! More soon! Also...That last episode. Just... ;.;<strong>


	8. Chapter 8 Hands

**_"Chapter 8 – Hands"_**

Trepidation filled Merlin as he stared up at the looming towers of grey stone. The walls were made of smooth, dressed stone, uniform blocks slotted together and filled tightly with strong grey mortar. At the wall's top the battlements stood out as black checks against the pale grey sky. Between them guards could be seen, either pacing fretfully or else leaning casually on their pikes, stony faced, staring out over the plains.

Cenred's castle was well located, perched on top of a ridge, surrounded for miles in every direction by open grass land, then looped by a curve of thick forest; any approaching enemy force would be spotted long before they had chance to take the defenders by surprise. The walls were nearly fifty feet tall, taller still in some places. Rounded towers defended each corner of its square design - The curved face of the towers would deflect all but the most accurate blows from siege weaponry. Any attackers would have to concentrate their fire against the main walls, forcing them to funnel their attacks and group their weaponry, thus making it easy for a party to sally forth from the keep and deal with. From a defensive standpoint the architecture was nearly flawless.

A small, ramshackle, town surrounded the high walls, barely more than a village, hovels and houses clustered together along the only road as if huddling for warmth. A steady trickle of carts and horses, or else people on foot, labouring under heavy packs, stuffed with whatever belonging they could carry, were spilling out of the town. Word of Uther's approached had clearly reached the villagers as well. Few spared Merlin a glance as they passed; if anyone noticed him at all it was to shoot him a furtive look, as if concerned he was about to rob them of their cooking pots, then scurry on a bit faster.

Snatches of cold wind whipped around Merlin, pulling his scarf and jacket, as he stared at his target – How was he ever going to get in there? There was no way he could scale the walls, even if by some miracle he managed to find a grip on the slippery stones it was inevitable one of the guards would see him. His earlier reconnoitre, circling the walls, had shown him there was only one gate, heavily guarded by at least a score of men who looked formidable in full battle regalia.

A small crowd had gathered round the gate, a mixture of villagers and their families pressing forwards, begging to be let in to find sanctuary, but the guards remained fixed, immovable, sending them away with curses and kicks. The only people permitted entry had formed a separate line – A group of men in mail and armour stood casually to the side, laughing at the villagers plight, cheering the guards on. Mercenaries.

Merlin watched keenly as they approached the gate, both singularly and in small groups. A small table that had been set out to one side, they exchanged a few words with the man sat at it, signed their names on a crumpled roll of parchment, then were ushered through the gates. The process seemed impossibly simple, but clearly Cenred was expecting trouble and wanted the man power. The only mouths he wanted to feed were those who would fight for him, servants, villagers, women and children were viewed simply as a drain on his resources. From a practical standpoint his logic couldn't be faulted, but the entire display left Merlin cold, his hands shaking slightly with anger at the cruelty.

To Merlin's left a door slammed, causing him to snap out of his intense stare and jump in alarm. A mail clad man lumbered past him, he was clearly drunk, or at least Merlin hoped he was drunk judging by the way he was walking, wandering left and right stumbling and bouncing off various unconcealed hazards. Merlin's eyes scanned over the mail shirt and sword belted at the man's waist, feeling a surge of inspiration as he glanced back towards the group of mercenaries outside the castle.

"What'chu looking at," the man slurred as he flailed past Merlin, a tankard still gripped in his hand that sloshed noisily as he whirled it round to point it a Merlin, possibly having mistaken it for his sword that was still belted at his hip. "Ha! Wha'yer gonna do wiv tha!" The man laughed seeing Merlin raise his hand.

Merlin didn't reply, simply smiled darkly, before his eyes flashed gold.

-,-,-,-

"Cenred's ready for us," Sir Leon muttered, stating the obvious. A handful of the other knights grunted in response, agreeing with his blunt assessment. The party of knights were cluster along the tree line, taking advantage of the long shadows to hide them from the eyes of any watchful sentries. Before them spread miles of open grass land, or rather what had been open grass land, it was now pitted with stakes and ditches and no doubt other unpleasant surprises designed to slow and maim the approaching army.

Sir Leon nudged his horse gentle, urging it forwards into the light. With out the over hanging trees the view was much clearer. Leon narrowed his eye's straining to see into the distance, where Cenred's stronghold could be seen as a dark block against the dull grey sky. Ant sized figures could be seen skittering back and forth in and around the ramshackle cluster of buildings around it's base, more still could be seen trickling out of the town or up towards the castle where they disappeared against the blackness of the stone. He thought he could see tiny dots patrolling the battlements too, but at such a distance it could have been his imagination.

"We must report to the King," Leon said grimly, pulling his horse round, spurring it back down the slight incline towards the others.

-,-,-,-

"Any sign of Arthur?" Uther asked, distractedly swirling the contents of his goblet as he listened to the report.

"No Sire," Sir Leon said as gently, "Cenred's withdrawn behind his walls, we found no one – "

"I see," Uther replied coldly, criticism implied in his voice even if he said nothing else. "That will be all," he said turning his back on Leon and dismissing him from the tent with a wave of his hand.

Leon dithered a moment, unsure if should venture to say anything else. No – Uther wouldn't appreciate his concern or assurance, it wasn't his place. He clenched his jaw and bowed, "Sire," he murmured and backed from the tent.

The rustle and slap of canvas confirmed that Uther was alone, he turned back to the table where an intricately detailed map was spread, weighted down at the edges by a dagger and an empty pitcher to stop it curling in on itself. Uther stared into the pitcher morosely; it was empty. He gulped down the last dregs of wine in his cup and slammed it down on the table edge, making the small wooden blocks spread around the map to represent the different force jump. With a growl he swept his arm across the map, tumbling all the pieces on to the floor, followed by the pitcher. With out the weights the map curled, scuttling back into a neat scroll.

With a sigh he slumped down in a chair, his head in his hands. His shoulder ached abominably, an old battle wound that gave him grief when ever he was cold or stressed, or, like now, both. His campaign had been hampered by miserable weather, driving rain and wind, even dashes of sleet and snow – They were days behind his original schedule.

He flexed his hand, looking at the skin stretched taut over his knuckles; it was pale, flecked with brown freckles and streaked with bright white scars. The hands of an old man, he thought, quickly dropping them back down, out of sight.

Pushing away from the table he rose to his feet, hands behind his back, and began to pace up and down. His body was tired but his mind refused him any rest, even if he lay down the same thoughts would just keep chasing themselves round his brain. First Morgana. Now Arthur. They were trying to take everything from him. He wouldn't allow it, he would tear Cenred's castle to the ground with his bear hands if he had too.

Snatches of laugher and song filtered though the thick folds of the tent's canvas from the surrounding camp where the soldiers huddled around the small fires, cooking, talking, the wisest sleeping while they could before it was their turn to go on watch. Briefly he considered storming out there and demanding they be silent, then relented, at least some one was happy; besides men with high moral fought better, and they would need to.

Soon the real fight would begin.

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><p><strong>Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully the next chapter will be along soon as it is already begun =3<strong>


	9. Chapter 9 Stage One

**"Chapter 9 – Stage One"**

"And how long have you been training for?" The Guard asked, looking Merlin up and down skeptically. The boy's chain mail was far too big for his lean frame, his sword belt too loose, so he kept having to hitch it back up every few minutes or else trail his sword along the ground.

"A couple of years," Merlin replied defensively.

"Alright…" The guard replied again, his face still skeptical, "And you're a swordsman, that right?" The guard continued, gesturing the sword at Merlin's hip.

"That's me," Merlin responded brightly, causing the guard to simply stare at him for a moment.

"Fine," The guard relented after another moments paused, "We always need some more catapult fodder." He said with a bluntness that made Merlin's smile slip away. "Sign there." The guard tapped the bottom of the parchment, indicating a place beneath the jumble of other names. Merlin quickly scrawled down his name, or rather scrawled down 'Will', it was unlikely anyone would ever of heard of him, or even if they had that they would make the connection, but it couldn't hurt to be careful.

"Grab a helmet and shield from stores. Drop you're kit off in the barracks. There's about an hour before drill practice starts in the main courtyard. NEXT!"

.;.;.;.

Merlin stumbled across the courtyard, weighed down by his pile of equipment – Stores hadn't just issued him with a helmet and shield, they had also given him a tunic, a spare sword, a small axe, a large axe, a dagger, a cross bow, a bag of quarrels, greaves, gloves, a new belt, sheath, and a hauberk – He couldn't fault them on generosity, possibly because the stores keeper had taken some perverse form of pity on Merlin, probably thinking the scrawny looking boy wasn't going to survive the week and need all the help he could get.

Despite his precariously balanced pile Merlin kept his eye's roving left and right, taking in various details of the castle. While smaller than Camelot the castle was still dominating, it's façade was sweeping grey stone carved into uninspiring square blocks then slapped together with thick lines of black mortar. It had none of the sweeping curved or elegant sculpture of Camelot, it was all harsh line, tiny windows and square edges. On the his left a short set of steps lead up to a dark doorway in the keep, flanked by two guards who leaned lazily against the stone work, chatting as they whiled away their watch.

There was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles by the main gate and sudden the guards snapped to attention, springing back into place either side of the doorway, frozen still as statues. Curious to see who it was that had inspired such a reaction, Merlin glanced over his shoulder, probably Cenred himself Merlin mused as he turned his head – Then froze.

The horse was pure white with a long flowing mane and tail; the armour clad figure upon it would have been nothing special but for the long, blond, curls that spilled out behind her. Morgause. Merlin's heart was in his mouth as the horse came closer, stepping swiftly over the uneven cobble stones.

"My dear Morgause!" A voice called out over the courtyard as another figure emerged from the doorway, "To what do I owe the pleasure."

"Cenred," Morgause replied coyly, nodding her head to him as she reigned in her horse at the steps, and, taking the hand he offered her, leapt down from the saddle. "I think you know why I'm here," she replied huskily, not releasing his hand.

The exchange was taking place only a few paces away; Morgause had ridden right past Merlin, with in feet of him in fact. It had seemed to take her an impossibly long time to pass by, any second he had been expecting her to look round and recognise him. If she did it would all be over. The last time they had laid eye's on each other had been in Camelot's throne room, Morgause holding Morgana's body, while he stood back, cold and distant, having just poisoned his friend.

Taking a deep breath he steeled himself to start moving again, if only slowly, he just needed to get away from here, away from her. She would show him no mercy, and, he quietly thought, he didn't deserve any either, for what he had done.

"I take it you're here just to see me then," Cenred replied, raising her hand to his lips and laying a gentle kiss on the tips of her fingers.

"Don't flatter yourself," Morgause replied, though she smiled, "I'm here about the Prince." That stopped Merlin dead in his tracks.

"Ah," Cenred murmured releasing Morgause's hand, "I should have known, your spies are everywhere," far from admonishing her he sounded impressed. "But I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey, my dear. The Prince is imperative to my plans, as I'm sure you… Comprehend."

"Come now Cenred," Morgause said taking a step closer to him and laying a hand on his chest, "I'm sure we could come to some arrangement…One that suits us both." She murmured, looking sultrily up at him through her lashes.

.;.;.;.

Dumping his things down on his assigned palette Merlin sat down heavily, head in his hands. He took several deep, steadying, breaths he ran his hands through his hair, worrying at the tips with his agitated fingers as he tried to think. Morgause's presence here changed everything. From the exchange he had overheard it would appear that she was not one of the instigators in all this, but he knew that cunning vixen was more than capable of shoehorning her way in – Cenred certainly seemed to buy her brand of persuasion.

The original plan had been to wait for cover of darkness before stealing down to the dungeons, where he presumed Arthur was being held, springing the Prince and then subtly escaping over the ramparts – That last part very much depended on whether or not Merlin could conjure up some rope, either magically or figuratively.

Now there was little choice left, whatever Morgause wanted with Arthur it couldn't be good, Merlin had to get to him before she did. In broad daylight however their chances of a clean get away would be slim, every guard in the Castle would be on them in a matter of minutes, against that many… Merlin swallowed nervously, he only had one weapon he could use against that many soldiers. Magic. A nervous twitch started in his leg. By some miracle he had managed to keep his gifts secret, but then Merlin knew how Arthur felt about magic - The same as Uther. Swallowing again he pushed the thought away; there was no use dwelling on it, he simply had to do what had to be done. The purpose of his magic was to protect Arthur, it was his destiny, he had failed once already and he would not do so again.

Finding his resolve, Merlin stood up quickly, sending some of his hastily piled equipment scattering across the hard stone floor. He smiled sheepishly around, trying to brush off the incident as a couple of the other men loitering around the barracks looked up at him, shaking their heads at his skittishness, then went back to whatever they were doing, mostly honing blades or checking equipment.  
>Still feeling jittery Merlin ferreted through his pile, selecting the tunic and helmet which he pulled on over his mail shirt and belted tightly. He picked up the sword, then paused, considering; it was no secret that he was useless when it came to all things swordy - Or any kind of physical activity really. If he had to fight then he relied on magic, or did the sensible thing and ran away. Conclusion - A sword would probably trip him over.<p>

Straightening up, he swept his hands over his tunic, evened out the mail shirt underneath, took a deep breath, setting his face into a slight grimace that he hoped said mercenary, rather than terrified-servant-looking-for-Prince-Arthur. He strode from the dark barracks into the wan light of the courtyard ready to get his plan rolling. Stage one – Find Arthur.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, as he paused outside the barracks, eyes narrowed against the sun. He swept his eyes over the proceeding going on the in courtyard, trying to determine where to start looking. Nothing was immediately apparent, so he started walking across the cobbles, trying to look purposeful, but it was a little difficult considering, he had no idea where exactly he was going.

He altered his course slightly so he wouldn't intercept the two guards who had just emerged from a doorway on his right, and continued at his brisk pace. Until he noted something rather important – Something that made him change direction once again so he was almost running after the guards with barely suppressed glee. Between the two men, cuffed and gagged, was a tall, blonde haired figure, in a torn, blue shirt.

Stage one – Find Arthur. Check.

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><p><strong>AN: I'll be completely honest. I totally forgot about this... The next few chapters are all done now though! Huzzarh! So that should keep you going for a bit. In the mean time - I do love reviews! Thanks for reading! Enjoy!<strong>


	10. Chapter 10 Hold Him

**"Chapter 10 – Hold Him"**

WHAM!

The blow caught the edge of Arthur's jaw, snapping his head round brutally. Slowly Arthur turned his head back, trying not to let his eyes water with pain as he glowered up at Cenred, hatred carved in every line of his face.

"Answer me!" Cenred demanded. "How many Knights does your Father command!"

Arthur snarled, but remained defiantly silent as he glared daggers at his captor. The guards, especially his original abductor, Egan, who seemed to have a personal score to settle with Arthur, hadn't been gentle in their treatment getting him here; already Arthur's face was a sea of black and blue, two black eyes, a worryingly loose tooth, a puffy eyebrow and a painful tear in his lip that had reopened, filling his mouth with the metallic tang of blood. Repulsed by the taste, and by the man leering over him, he a spat a bloody globule. It landed at Cenred's feet, earning another backhand to the face and a bloodied nose.

"Know when you're beaten," Cenred said coldly, stepping back from Arthur, contempt curling his lip.

"I'd never admit defeat to a coward like you," Arthur replied through clenched teeth. "I will not betray my people."

"Always so dramatic," Cenred teased, crouching down so he was level with Arthur who had been pushed to his knees and held there by the two guards. "So noble, so brave. So Pendragon."

"Then I am proud to be a Pendragon," Arthur responded, his lower lip quivering slightly, his gaze fixed firmly on a point somewhere over Cenred's shoulder. Every inch of him ached abdominally; his shoulder was a white blade of pain that kept stabbing him in jerky pulses. Waves of nausea and flashes of hot and cold swept over him, making him fight shivers; whether an after effect of the paralysing drug or a symptom of the fever from the infection he didn't know, but he didn't want to Cenred to think he was afraid.

"Tell me what I want to know and you'll live," Cenred offered reasonably, rising from his crouch and stepping back a few paces to his throne where he slouched down lazily and began twiddling a wicked looking dagger between his fingers. "Refuse…" Cenred said no more, but flicked the dagger and gave Arthur a look that said everything. "You choose."

.;.;.

Getting past the guards was easy, they didn't even stir as Merlin strode past them employing the age old tactic of speed and confidence – If he looked like he knew what he was doing no one would question him, or so went the theory. There was a tense moment when Merlin strode past a decadently clad nobleman going down the steps in the opposite direction, who glanced sideways at him frowning, but Merlin didn't even bat en eye lid, just kept striding forward; one hand laid casually on his sword hilt to stop it swing around and banging into the back of his legs, emanating the swagger he had seen displayed so many times in the past by the Knights of Camelot.

The inside of the Keep was dark in comparison to the bright light in the Courtyard, the few windows there were small slits, barely big enough to slip your fingers through let alone admit any light. Most of the light in the wide entrance hall came from the open doors, spilling into the dour interior in streaky rays that picked out the edges of the sparse furnishings in sharp detail and cast long eerie shadows behind them.

Three passageways branched off from the hall, disappearing into dark shadows, punctuated at intervals by the flickering glare of a torch. Glancing from one to another Merlin saw very little to choose between them, they were all equally tall and wide, all equally dark and sinister looking, there was no indication which way he should turn. Logic dictated that they would have taken Arthur to the throne room, or the main hall. In Camelot the way to the throne room was immediately obvious, the passageways were wide and straight, the ceilings made from vaulted stone, every wall leading up to it had thick, gold spun, tapestries and bright shields emblazed with the Pendragon crest and those of their most loyal nobles, even the floor was inlaid in expensive black and white marble checks. Everything about it was designed to show off their power, wealth and influence, effectively making any visitor or outsider feel small and insignificant. This Castle however was completely different, it was entirely utilitarian in design, if they could avoid any sort or decoration or embellishment they had; it was if some one had gone through scouring away anything that could be deemed beautiful – The effect was the same as Camelot in as much as it made any visitor feel small and insignificant but in a darker, more threatening way. Merlin found it oppressive.

Feeling eyes on his back Merlin knew he couldn't stall any longer, taking a blind chance he turned right, down the nearest passageway. He walked slowly at first, calmly and serenely as if this was his usual path, then glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else had followed him or was watching him, broke into a steady jog. He tried a flat out run but soon discovered the jingling of his chainmail and constant slap of his sword against his leg made too much noise. It was imperative he remain undetected, so, frustrated by the delay, he slowed back down to a quick stride that felt infuriatingly slow.

The passageway cut straight through the Castle, straight as an arrow, not once did it bend or dog leg, on either side rooms flashed by, most of the doors were closed but the babble of voices and flicker of torches flowed from a couple of open doors.

Merlin stopped briefly to investigate one of these rooms, but quickly established that it was full of off duty guards, and more importantly, Arthur wasn't there. He backed out of the room quickly, muttering something about looking for his friend Will, and hurried off down the corridor before any of them had to chance to reply or really register he had been there at all.

The corridor came to abrupt end at a pair of tall, black, double doors. This looked more promising. Pausing, Merlin pressed an ear against the doors, holding his breath while he listened… There was a murmur of voices. Crouching, Merlin tried to peer through the key hole, only to find his view blocked by the key on the other side. Hissing with annoyance Merlin stepped back, glancing around for inspiration; he couldn't just burst in there, he didn't even know what was on the other side – He couldn't risk blowing his cover, and there was always the danger of encountering Morgause.

A narrow door was set in the wall on his right; bizarrely the bottom of the door sill was two feet off the ground. Frowning he pulled the small, circular door ring, half expecting to find a cupboard. It came open easily, with barely a squeak, revealing a set of choppy steps that disappeared upwards. He could hear the voices more clearly now, echoing down the steps. This looked even more promising. Merlin pulled himself up onto the stairs, swinging the door closed behind him and began to climb.

The steps ended at a narrow ledge, edged by a low wooden rail on one side and a tall white plaster wall on the other that was interspersed with small unglazed window slits. The railings parted the ledge from a drop into a long, narrow, hall, spanned by thick, rough cut, wooden beams. The ledge continued to the far wall, where there was another small door, probably with steps leading down into the hall itself.

Gingerly, Merlin edged onto the ledge, crawling on his elbows to keep as low as possible, so he wouldn't block any of the window slits - In this dreary place the light from just one window would be sorely missed.  
>Shuffling as close to the edge as he dared, Merlin peered downwards, trying to see what was happening below. He was just in time to see Cenred raising a dagger.<p>

.;.;.

"Hold him," Cenred said, switching the dagger to his left hand as he stepped forwards.

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><p><strong>AN: Quick update becasue that last update took far too long. Enjoy! Review?<strong>


	11. Chapter 11 Last Chance

**"Chapter 11 – Last Chance"**

Arthur struggled against the guards' vise like grip as Cenred advanced on him, dagger poised in his hand. Egan grabbed a handful of Arthur's already torn blue shirt, dragging it upwards over his navel to reveal the bruised and grazed skin beneath.

"Last chance," Cenred said, touching the cold tip of the dagger to Arthur's skin and gently tracing a cross with its point.

"Never." Arthur breathed, staring defiantly ahead.

Cenred pressed the dagger down fractionally harder, the sharp edge sliced neatly into the skin, making Arthur shudder with pain. With a look of pained disappointment Cenred drew the blade sideways in a neat flick, carving open several inches of skin in a perfectly straight line. The shallow cut was calculated for maximum pain rather than serious harm; still it immediately filled with blood, welling up in bright red beads that dripped down, over Arthur's stomach, onto the floor with soft splashes.

"That was just a taste - How much more do you really think you can bare?" Cenred asked silkily, leaning forward, forcing Arthur to look him in the eye as he lowering the dagger again, placing it just below the first cut.

Arthur didn't answer, but closed his eyes, blocking out the image of Cenred's leering face, forcing himself to blank the stinging pain and willing himself not to whimper or cry out as he waited for the knife to slice into him again.

.;.;.

_"Alysan,"_ Merlin breathed, flicking his chin as his eyes glowed bright gold. The dagger spun out of Cenred's hand, skittering away across the tiled floor, coming to a stop against a raised edge with a loud chink that echoed around the hall.

.;.;.

Cenred started at his empty hand for a moment, then at the dagger, several feet away on the floor, with surprise, then confusion. Arthur too, having missed the moment when the dagger flicked away, was perplexed. Slowly, a look of comprehension dawned on Cenred's face, then a smile and slight shake of the head as he shifted on to one knee to cast a sly glance towards the alcoves against the far wall.

"Put him back where you got him from," Cenred said, jumping back to his feet and casually waving one hand to indicate they were all dismissed. Egan looked startle for a moment, then disappointed, but promptly did he was bid, roughly hauling the still confused Arthur to his feet and hustling him from the room.

"Lucky," Egan hissed in his ear. Arthur ignored him, twisting in their grip, to peer back over his shoulder as the guards unlocked the double doors and pushed him out into the corridor. Something had made Cenred suddenly change his mind, but what?

"Eyes forward," Egan snapped, roughly turning Arthur's head back, though his own eyes glanced upwards at slight movement on the balcony above. "Lot's of rats in this castle," Egan commented, his eyes still glued to the balcony, "Some real big ones."

.;.;.

"I wasn't going to kill him," Cendred said softly, a roguish smile on his face, "No - The Prince is far too valuable to me for that."

"To us," Morgause corrected him silkily. "Don't blame your slippery grip on me Cenred," Morgause liked to use his name, teasing him with it almost. "I did nothing," she replied honestly, through her supposed denial only made Cenred's wolfish grin widen.

"When I am through you can have what's left of the Prince," He assured her, bowing his head slightly to her as would a suitor presenting a gift.

"Yes – But I wonder – How long will that take?"

"He is a Pendragon. He's proud and stubborn – Full of noble intentions," Cenred's lip curled as he hissed the last two words. In his experience noble intentions were what got men killed. "You fear I might rescind on my part of the arrangement?"

"When a great King, such as yourself, gives his word, then who am I to question him," she smiled slightly, tilting her head to one side exposing the length of her neck.

"I'll keep my half of the bargain Morgause – You can be sure of that." He reached out taking her hand, pressing it softly to his lips. There was nothing he wanted more.

.;.;.

Creeping down the corridor, flitting from shadow to shadow in the guards wake, Merlin considered his options. Right now there had to be thousands of armed men in the castle; soldiers, guards and mercenaries, collectively they formed serious obstacle, but they were not his greatest worry. All the guards in the castle paled in significance to the threat posed by Morgause. The things she was capable of, magic of the darkest kind, spells like nothing Merlin had ever seen before, and, he was sure, there were still plenty more tricks up her sleeves. Beautiful, cunning, cold and calculating, a vixen in many ways and a viper in others – Cendred could have no idea what he had involved himself with.

Any rescue attempt would have to be completely silent, there could be no warning, no one left to sound the alarm once they were gone either, the operation had to be a completely clean. If Morgause got even the slightest hint of his presence, or purpose, she would be after him like the furies. There was no love lost between the two of them after what he had done to Morgana. Merlin swallowed, pushing away the image that always surfaced in his mind when he thought of that day. Morgana's wide pleading eyes and her tears as she realized that she was going to die and that it was he, her friend, who had killed her. Leaning back against a door set into in a slight alcove he whispered to himself the line he kept repeating every time the guilt threatened to engulf him.

"I had no choice." It was true, at the time, he had been desperate, it was the only way he could find out of the situation, but that didn't mean what he had done was right – He had done what was necessary. "I didn't want to," he murmured, quieter still.

A door slammed further down the passageway, snapping him back. He peered cautiously round the door frame, keeping himself pressed as flat to the door as possible. A trickle of guards exited one of the rooms, blocking his view of the other two guards who had Arthur.

"Why do we get stuck down in that stinkin' pit when everyone else gets to go to walls." One of them complained loudly from the back of the group. "Don't know what Cenred thinks is gonna happen."

"There's a whole army, just about snuggling up to our walls, and you don't know what everyone's so worried about?" Someone retorted scathingly.

"What do yer wanna go up there for?" Another shot back. "Keen to give the enemy some target practice?"

"Anything's better than watching the cells all night," the first one muttered bitterly.

The cells? This was exactly the information Merlin wanted to hear. Edging forwards he leaned a little further, towards the voices, risking a glance down the corridor. There were eight guards in loitering in the passage, ten if you included the two that had Arthur. While the heights and builds of the group varied, all of them were dressed the same; chain main coats with deep brown tunics on top, adorned with Cendred's distinctive livery, a writhing serpent. Their pikes were stacked haphazardly against the passage wall, while they chatted, or complained, to each other and finished preparing for duty; belting their swords, slipping on their conical helmets and making the best of a generally scruffy appearance.

"Come on then," One of them grunted, hefting his pike; from his tone and stance he didn't appear to relish the idea of guarding the cells anymore than the others, but seemed to figure that some one should nudge the group in the right direction.

Merlin leaned back, pressing himself against the door again, as the guards stumped around the passageway, noisily grabbing the last of their equipment. The sound of shuffling foot steps heralded their departure. Merlin released the breath he had been holding, rubbing his hands on his chest to wipe away the nervous sweat. The fabric felt coarse and prickly under his fingers, he looked down at it with distaste, tracing the swirling serpent crest with his finger nails.

A slow smile spread across his face – How could he have forgotten? Slapping the insignia on is chest he side stepped out into the passage way and strolled casually after the guards.

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><p><strong>AN: Steaming through this now! Next chapter is actually my favourite - It shall be along soon! In the mean time - Reviews are much, much loved!<strong>


	12. Chapter 12 - Will

**"Chapter 12 – Will"**

"Get in there," Egan, snarled, shoving Arthur in the back so his weak knees buckled and he pitched forwards onto the solid stone floor. Unable to break his fall, due to the fact his hands were still securely tied behind his back, the best he could do was to turn his shoulder, taking the impact on his already bad arm instead of smashing his chin into the floor or breaking his nose. The pain made him wheeze and gasp as the freshly clotted blood ripped apart, opening the weeping wound again. The slash across his chest had numbed at least, instead of the livid hot scar it had been, it just throbbed and twinged, beating in time to his racing heart.

"So loyal," Egan said stepping into the cell after Arthur, "So very loyal," he repeated, making the word sound like something dirty, " – What is it with Camelot?" he asked as he circled slowly round Arthur.

"We believe that some things are actually worth dying for." Arthur replied coldly, turning his head to look pointedly in the other direction to Egan. Camelot was, loyalty, trust, friendship and courage; precisely everything that Cenred and his cronies would never understand, and precisely what Arthur would never betray no matter how they tried to get him to talk.

"Oh he will die for it – Be assured of that."

"Who-" Arthur began to ask, turning back to look at Egan, confused by the sudden cryptic turn in conversation. Who were they talking about? His father? But Egan was already leaving, striding across the cell. He slammed the door in his wake, with such force that it sent a concussion wave of sound echoing around the tiny space, making Arthur's already pounding head ache even more.

Groaning, Arthur rolled over, using the momentum to lever himself into a sitting position, and wormed his way over to the wooden pail by the door. There was only water in it, but it was cold and clean; refreshing his parched throat and cooling his burning face. Such a small and ordinary thing seemed a luxury in this miserable hole.  
>Briefly he considered Egan's words – Some one was in danger? But who? Was it true, or just some new mind game Egan had come up with to torture him with? Arthur pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, until he saw white stars bursting across his vision. Whatever the case he had to admit it was irrelevant, locked in here there was nothing he could do for anyone.<p>

Leaning back against the wall he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and steadily, trying not the focus on the pain radiating through out his body. He forced his thoughts away from the cell, and everything that was happening to him here, instead he let his mind drift back, imagining Camelot.

The city was beautiful, bathed in a hint of golden summer sunshine. He sat on the steps to the castle, observing the courtyard, busy as usual with comings and goings of nobles and peasants alike.

Knights swept around, looking important, red capes billowing out behind them as they strode across the cobbles; gaggles of ladies stalking along behind them, giggling and whispering behind their hands as they went. Servants dashed to and fro, busy with their work, clutching bundles of laundry and stacks of supplies in their arms, or else pails of water laboriously drawn from the well.

One of the serving girls paused in her work, dropping her basket to the floor, as she pushed her raven curls from her eyes, to look up at him, smiling brightly. The rest of the scene melted away as he focused on her. She was wearing her usual lavender dress, the one she looked so lovely in. Her hair was neatly pinned at the back of her head, save for a few strands that had worked their way loose so the light breeze tugged at them, pulling the tight curls straight.

Arthur smiled to himself, the motion splitting his torn lip again, but he didn't mind the salty tang spreading across his lips, so long as he could concentrate on her - The beautiful Guinevere.

She would be so worried, he thought his grin widening a little further; not that she liked to admit to such things, though she usually did in her quaint flustered way. She would be so relived when he saw her again – If he saw her again, he realized suddenly.

That did cause his smile to slip, until now he had never truly believed he was going to die here, in this cell. For some reason he had been sure he was going to get out of here, an opportunity would present itself and he would be free - Wishful thinking.

His eyes snapped open, the serene image of Gwen vanishing to be replaced by the oppressively black darkness. He had always imagined his death to be a little more noteworthy than this, a sword in his hand and a battle cry on his lips, like a true warrior, not a lingering demise, whimpering and scared in the dark.

Footsteps outside his cell, and the scrape of the key in the lock, caused Arthur to sit up straighter, his pride refused to let them see him down - He might be down, but he wasn't going to act like it.

Two guards bustled in, one tall and lanky, the other shorter and fat; they sported the usual attire, mucky brown tunic complete with the twisting serpent insignia. At least it wasn't Egan back again.

The shorter man wordlessly set down a new pail of water, and picked up the old one, while the taller man just stood in the door way watching mutely – Apparently he was just there as back up incase the Prince tried something. Arthur spared them both a disparaging glance and a snort, before turning pointedly away to stare aloofly at the opposite wall.

"That will be all, thank you." Arthur said gravely, with out looking at either of the men, purposefully baiting the guard by using an arrogant tone.

"Why you cocky-"

"Ooommph!" Arthur gasped as the guard aimed a kick at his stomach; he had known the reward for his words would be violence before he had spoken, so he wasn't surprised by the reaction.

"Bit of a clever one this one," the guard told his colleague, stabbing a thumb at Arthur. "Roughing him up is the only thing he understands - Does him some good."

"A new henchman I see," Arthur gasped as brightly as he could, "So much work down here these days you have to delegate?"

"Yer that's right – Go on Will, teach him a lesson." The guard said, playing along with Arthur's words, jabbing a hand toward the Prince again. Will however didn't seem to share the savage delight at the idea of beating up the prisoner, he backed away a little, hands raised in deference. "Go on – Don't be soft – No one's gonna mind." The guard insisted.

"I don't know-" Will mumbled.

"What's the matter with you boy?" The guard asked, glaring at Will now. "What kind of pansies are they sending me? DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!"

"Yes, Will. Do as you are told!" Arthur drawled in a high pitched mockery of the guard, which earned him another kick to the ribs.

"Yes, Sire." Will mumbled meekly, stepping back into the cell again.

Arthur raised his chin, glaring defiantly up as Will advanced upon him, ready for whatever punishment the scrawny looking youth was about to dish out. A barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue as he met the man's eyes, then froze.

"Speechless – That's a first. Scared of you he is – Must be that mean look in your eyes." The guard laughed, slapping Will on the back.

"Go on then," Arthur said, recovering from his shock, "Bet you punch like a girl anyway." Will still hesitated, eyes flicking away from Arthur to the other guard and back again. "Just do it," Arthur said, is voice softer now, kinder almost. Will nodded, swallowed and stepped forward, sinking a fist into Arthur's stomach. A kick was swift to follow, though it lacked any real force and Arthur had to whimper and hiss to improve the effect.

"Just wait till I come back," Will growled, giving Arthur a final rough shove in the chest that sent him sprawling. At the same moment Will's hands made contact, something smooth, heavy and cold, slithered down the front of his shirt, making him shiver in surprise, though he made no move to see what it was.

"Alright now boy, that's enough – Need to leave something for Cenred." The guard chuckled, nodding his head to the side to indicate they should go. Will nodded in response, turning to leave the cell, though he paused at the exit, glancing backwards.

"That should cut you some slack," he said with a ghost of a smile, then quickly hurried on, the door slamming behind him.

Arthur pushed himself up again, wriggling to nudge the object out of his shirt and onto the ground where he could get to it. By running his fingers over the floor he soon found it, despite the darkness. Picking it up, he turned it over in his hands - It felt smooth, yet slightly ridged and pitted like wood grain, long and thin, rounded at one end, but circular and metal at the other; he ran his thumb nail down edge, feeling a cold line of steel buried in the wood. He grinned broadly, having identified the object, a pocket knife. Perfect – He really would be able to cut himself some slack with that.

Maybe he was getting out of here after all, with a little help from Will – Or as he knew him, Merlin.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for sticking with me so long! More soon! As always I do love reviews - They make my day!<strong>


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